Harry Potter Drabble Series
by Pegasus
Summary: A series of 300 words and less 'drabble' stories that I've written from prompts given over at the Sugar Quill.
1. 1 Butterbeer

**HP Drabble Series # 1**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#1 - Prompt Butterbeer. Word count 296**

It had been a particularly long, arduous day and Minerva McGonagall was tired. No, she was beyond tired – she was positively exhausted. The class of second year Hufflepuffs were unlike to ever Transfigure anything at the rate they were going. There were some amongst their number who would be lucky if they could ever Transfigure a blue teatowel into a green teatowel. Upstairs in her office she spent a pleasurable few minutes unlacing her boots. On removal, she wiggled her toes with relief, the digits resplendent in their red and yellow striped Gryffindor stockings. She noted, with some irritation, that there was a hole where the left big toe was poking out.

"Darn," she said and smiled at the double implications of the word. Really, sometimes she was too clever for words.

She had been teaching here at Hogwarts now for more years than she cared to remember and in that time had seen many students come and go – and in the case of some of the newer teachers who passed through, come again.

Minerva closed her eyes and put her be-stockinged feet up on the table, a scene of repose that would have had her students gasping in surprise. She was renowned for her strict nature, for the way that she would be on your back like a tonne of bricks if you so much as forgot to say 'thank you' at the dinner table. If her students could see her now, leaning back on the chair, her feet on the table, a bottle of butterbeer in one hand and a box of Honeydukes Special Selection waiting for her attention, what would they say?

She neither knew, nor cared. This was Minerva time, and nothing, not even her students, would be stealing it from her.


	2. 2 Diagon Alley

**HP Drabble Series # 2**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#2 - Prompt Diagon Alley. Word count 273**

"You're a Curse Breaker, Bill, you've faced more terrifying things than this." Ginny folded her arms across her chest and glared at her big brother with the sort of smouldering fury that could start fires if she got too close to anything even remotely flammable.

"Don't kid yourself, Ginny," said Bill, adopting a nearly identical stance and glowering down at his kid sister. "Chasing mummies through the pyramids of Giza and fighting that ghoul in the Canyon of Despair were _nothing_ compared to this. I'm not going to do it. There's nothing on earth that you can say or do or even bribe me with that's going to make me change my mind."

The ruse worked; Ginny was intrigued and the conversation veered away to her asking him a thousand and one questions about the Canyon of Despair and the hitherto unheard of ghoul chasing. With an overly dramatic sigh, Bill had regaled her with a highly embellished version of events. Ginny didn't need to know that the 'lengthy hunt and battle' had actually consisted of a few short lines of dialogue between him and the ghoul, as follows.

Bill: "Hi. Uh, the locals really don't like you being around much."

Ghoul: "Really?"

Bill: "Yeah. So, would you mind going…somewhere else?"

Ghoul: "No problem."

No. It'd be dangerous to tell her the truth, so he gave her the more exciting version. It did the trick. She completely and utterly forgot her question. And he didn't have to explain again why it was that a heroic Curse Breaker simply refused to accompany anybody to Diagon Alley on the first day of the Christmas sales.


	3. 3 Diagon Alley 2

**HP Drabble Series # 3**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#3 - Prompt Diagon Alley (#2). Word count 300**

She had come home from her shopping trip full of enthusiasm and excitement. She had rambled on for hours about things like cauldrons and owls and Gringotts, Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour…oh, there had been fantastic sweets, chocolate frogs, sorry I didn't save one for you, Pet, but they were SO delicious….

Petunia, of course, hadn't gone.

"It'd be best if you stayed here with Gran," her father had said. "This is Lily's day, sweetheart. I promise we'll do something special for you soon, too."

Until that moment, Petunia had been as excited as Lily. When the letter from Hogwarts had first come, she had been the second to read it, right after her sister. Together, they had shown the letter to their parents. Together they had lain in the room they shared that night and squealed with excitement over the sheer madness of it all. Together they had planned all the clever tricks that Lily would learn.

Yes, right up until the moment that Mr. Evans had decided not to let Petunia come with them to London, she had been every bit as thrilled and delighted as her sister about this whole witch business.

And the worst thing? The worst thing was the way that Lily had simply promised to 'tell her all about it when she came home'. But by the time Lily came home, Petunia no longer wanted to know.

All day she had sat in the front room at Gran's house, the spark of resentment becoming a flame of anger, finally bursting out in a veritable inferno of bitterness and jealousy that time would not douse.

Her perfect sister.

The witch in the family.

Petunia's heart hardened and she knew that the love she and Lily had shared was gone forever, left behind because of Diagon Alley.


	4. 4 Travel

**HP Drabble Series # 4**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#4 - Prompt Travel. Word count 300**

"Arthur, I really don't see why we couldn't have just taken the Floo…" Molly Weasley puffed behind her husband who was walking away from her swiftly. It was at times like this that poor Molly wished she had less girth and more stride. When Arthur was in a hurry to get somewhere, he forgot that it took her twice as long and that she had to scurry twice as fast as him.

"Nonsense, Molly, this is a marvellous opportunity," replied her husband, noticing his wife's discomfort in pace and slowing down a little.

Just a little.

Not _too_ much.

He was, after all, very excited.

"A marvellous opportunity to display that yet again we have no idea _whatsoever_ how to exist in the Muggle world. We could have Apparated PART of the …"

"But MOLLY!"

Oh, dear God, it was the earnest expression again. All the years they had been married and she still couldn't resist it. When Arthur took it upon himself to Act On Impulse, Molly was often left struggling in his wake. Things were peaceful at home now that the twins had gone, Percy was the heavens above only knew where and only Ron and Ginny were left – and so Molly had rather shyly suggested a week away somewhere sunny and warm.

Between them, they had decided on Crete. Lots of history, lots of things to explore, lots of sun, lots of retsina – it was perfect.

Except Arthur had come up with the notion to travel by, of all things, aeroplane.

"How hard can it be?" he asked, clapping his hands together in glee as they joined the line at the ticket desk.

Five minutes later when Molly realised that they were in the queue for the toilets, she told Arthur EXACTLY how hard it would be.


	5. 5 Meeting

**HP Drabble Series # 5**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#5 - Prompt Meeting. Word count 299**

"Fancy meeting your schoolfriends here. That was nice for you, Neville."

"Yeah," he replied, attempting an enthusiastic grin. Smiling, however, was the last thing he felt like doing after visiting his parents. His hand closed around the sweet wrapper in his pocket. _At least mum actually noticed I was physically there this time,_ he thought. _Even if she still hasn't got a clue about who I am._

"Why did you try to steer me away from them, boy? Are you so ashamed of your family that you worry about me meeting anybody?"

"No, Gran, it's not like that, not at all…it's just…" Neville ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at her, this formidable woman who had been his absolute core of strength, his substitute parent. How could he tell her that he was frightened of telling his friends about what had happened to Alice and Frank? How could he admit his cowardice in front of her? She with the limited patience, she with the tongue so sharp it could cut through metal. How ashamed she would be of him.

Of course, he knew that she was ashamed of him already. He lived with that knowledge every day.

"I understand, Neville," she said, and there was a tone in her voice that he'd never heard before. He looked up at her, startled. She looked down at him and, for the first time ever he realised that just as he had lost his mother and father, she had lost a beloved child. "I understand," she repeated and he knew then that she did. "She does love you, you know. So do I."

And then she began chattering about mundane things, but it didn't matter. He'd heard what he needed to hear and the world was a better place.


	6. 6 Garden

**HP Drabble Series # 6**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#6 - Prompt Garden. Word count 299**

"I came to this school for seven years and _never_ realised that this place was here." Her voice was filled with a strange sort of wonder that made Lupin's heart fill with warmth. He slid his hand into hers and squeezed gently.

"You know Hogwarts," he said, softly. "It's full of surprises."

"Yeah, but you'd think a rose garden this size couldn't be hidden from view forever."

"It was Dumbledore's," said Lupin softly. "Now that he's not here to maintain the illusion that it's not here…it's here for us all to see in all its glory." He looked around the garden, the sight of which was as nothing compared to its heavenly scent. Rare and unusual varieties of roses bloomed all around and the place had that sort of cultured wildness that made it evident that someone had cared for it deeply.

"He used to do it all by hand," said Lupin, as they walked down the almost hidden path. "No magic."

"How come you knew it was here?"

"He brought me here, once, after a Change. When I was particularly ill, and thought I wouldn't survive. I was wallowing in self-pity and he brought me here to help him prune. It was…a revelation."

He looked around at the garden and the flowers blurred in his teared vision.

"It's mine, now, 'Dora," he said, softly. "I received an owl the morning he…the last day he was here. _The most beautiful of flowers flourishes under the hand of one who loves them. And I can think of nobody with more love to give than you, Remus._" He looked sideways at her, meaningfully.

She blushed.

He smiled.

Their hands entwined, they strolled peacefully through the hidden garden, enjoying this rare chance to be peaceful and safe.

Tomorrow, there would be war.


	7. 7 Werewolf

**HP Drabble Series # 7**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#7 - Prompt Werewolf. Word count 296**

The one thing he'd learned in his many years was that waiting was an art form. There were those who simply…waited. He, however, didn't wait.

He lingered.

He loomed.

He _threatened_.

He didn't even have to try. Perhaps it was the werewolf in him, but Fenrir's ability to be threatening simply by _being_ was something that he enjoyed. He could wait in a room with a sort of silent villainy that throbbed from him like a pulse. He could wait in a crowd, which would disperse around him giving him an unconscious wide berth.

Or, and this was his personal favourite, he could wait alone.

Eyes dark as sloe berries glittered in the single shaft of moonlight that crept from the clouds. Most lycanthropes attacked only at full moon, but his was an inherently vicious nature. Even on a moonless night, Fenrir hunted. Indeed, he _preferred_ it that way: somehow the lycanthrope in him made the hunt too easy. This was something else. This was a carefully crafted thing.

Oh, it was a beautiful thing.

The man had insulted him, had pushed him one step beyond rational thought – which was not difficult where Fenrir was concerned. But he had harboured revenge. He had dreamed, scented, tasted the revenge for days now and tonight, tonight he would snatch the boy. The child.

Lupin would rue the day he had pushed Fenrir Greyback too far.

But not as much as his son.

A bubble of laughter burst from his lips. The thought of taking the boy into his clutches and savouring the child's terror as another would savour a fine wine…

A thin stream of saliva ran from Fenrir's mouth and he shifted his position slightly, his hunger increasing.

He waited.

It was, after all, what he did.


	8. 8 Intuition

**HP Drabble Series # 8**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#8 - Prompt Intuition. Word count 300**

It had been a hard few weeks for Hermione. Using the Time Turner to attend at least twice as many classes as most of her friends was starting to get her down, not to mention the arguments with Ron over Crookshanks and Scabbers.

_Stupid bloody rat_, she thought unhappily.

It had been barely an hour since she had stormed out of Divination like an avenging angel and she had been in the bathroom all that time. Moaning Myrtle had gone on (and on) about – well, something. Whatever it was had involved lots of sobbing and general histrionics that quite _frankly_ Hermione could have done without.

_Oh, my sainted aunt_, she thought to herself, as though waking from a dream. _I walked out of a class. Still, she was an old fraud…_

As if her thoughts had somehow summoned her, a breathy voice came from over her shoulder. "Miss Granger? I wondered if I might have a word."

"Professor Trelawney." Hermione turned around and forced a smile onto her face. "I…"

"No, dear girl, do not speak. I merely stopped by to see Professor Snape and got you this restorative. It should give you a little energy. Your aura is dreadful." She handed over a small bottle of an emerald green liquid. Hermione's brow furrowed briefly. She thought she'd done a good job of hiding her tiredness.

Unless…

No, surely not.

"Did you divine how I am or something? The tarot? A crystal ball moment? Tea leaves, maybe?"

"No, dear. Something far simpler."

Professor Trelawney leaned forwards and tapped her nose gently. "Feminine intuition," she whispered, as though letting Hermione in on a great secret. Then she patted her condescendingly on the head and floated off.

"Time of the month, dearie," she called back over her shoulder. "Happens to us all."


	9. 9 Penalty

**HP Drabble Series # 9**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#9 - Prompt Penalty. Word count 298**

It had been a typically busy morning at the Ministry.

Firstly, he had tidied up a pile of papers. Then he had moved the pile of papers around on the desk. Then he had moved the pile of papers back and straightened it neatly.

There had been a tea break. Then the straightening had resumed.

_This_ was living. Organisation. Tidiness. Everything that was seriously lacking at the Burrow.

Percy let out a contended sigh and held his set square up against the pile of paper. Perfect ninety degrees. He gazed upon the pile fondly for a while and congratulated himself on a Job Well Done.

"Morning, Worseley," said one of his colleagues, returning to the office after a meeting. Percy felt a little miffed. Nobody ever got his name right, and nobody ever called him Percy any more. Mind you, nobody ever called him 'Git', 'Fat Head' or 'Muppet' any more, either.

Small mercies.

He opened his drawer and rummaged around, coming out with a framed copy of the photograph of the Weasleys in Egypt. He looked at it for a few moments. It was as much as he saw of his family these days. He occasionally regretted it, but that was the penalty he had paid for choosing what he had learned too late was the wrong team.

The story of his life.

Maybe the time had come for a change.

He ran a finger across the photograph and watched the images of Fred and George mouthing 'Pillock' at his own likeness and felt a warm glow. He carefully tucked the photograph away again and surveyed his neat pile of paper.

Then, greatly daring, he twitched the top sheet until it was at an angle to the rest of the pile.

_The rebellion_, he thought, _starts here_.


	10. 10 Portrait

**HP Drabble Series # 10**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#10 - Prompt Portrait. Word count 298**

All was quiet.

This was unusual these days. If the portrait of his mother wasn't screaming bloody murder downstairs, the rest of the Order were here making the sting of his enforced solitude worse.

Sirius prowled the hallways, alone. In one hand he held a bottle of Firewhisky from which he took the occasional swig. From the way he was staggering and occasionally walking into a wall, it was clear that he taken many swigs already. Probably too many swigs.

Not that he cared.

"That stuff will kill you, eventually," came a mild voice.

"Something's got to kill me, so it might as well be something pleasurable." Sirius scowled and turned to face the wall. "Did you mistake me for someone who cares?"

"I used to drink Firewhisky," said the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, almost wistfully. "Gave me terrible gas as I recall."

Sirius tipped his head on one side and studied his ancestor closely. Phineas had been absent for the past day or two, undoubtedly enjoying himself at another haunt – maybe even Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore's office.

Jealousy flared.

"Must be nice to flit between portraits like you do, to have that ability to oversee things even when you're dead."

"There's nothing to be jealous of, Sirius," came the reply. "You're still alive."

"Maybe I don't want to be anymore. Maybe it'd be easier to be like you."

"Be careful what you wish for, Sirius. Often times it can come true."

"Nah, I'm going to live forever," said Sirius, raising the bottle of Firewhisky in toast to Phineas. "Just to annoy people."

Phineas gave him a sad smile. "Do you know, if anybody could achieve that, Sirius Black, it'd be you."

And he was gone again, leaving Sirius alone with nothing but dark thoughts and Firewhisky for company.


	11. 11 Lake

**HP Drabble Series # 11**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#11 - Prompt Lake. Word count 298**

The moon, bright and swollen was perfectly reflected in the black, glass-like surface of the lake. All was peaceful on this balmy summer's night. The scent of honeysuckle and night stock filled the air with an all-pervading flavour that seemed to permeate the soul.

When the rock struck the water, the moon's reflection shattered into a myriad broken pieces.

So beautiful, this night of nights. No hint of the grim foreshadowing that silenced the world with its substance. Nowhere in this perfect scene were the horrors to come even hinted at.

So beautiful, this night of nights.

So ominous.

The ripples ceased and once again the water on the lake became calm and unbroken.

A cloud drifted across the full moon, seemed almost embarrassed to cause such a blight on this perfect night and drifted hurriedly off again.

Perfection restored.

Another rock hit the water.

Harry sat alone at the shoreline, his eyes red and tired from the tears he had shed that afternoon at Dumbledore's funeral. He was not ashamed of his tears. They had been tears for a good man, a man who had become, to all intents and purposes, his father. No, he was not ashamed.

But he _was_ afraid.

The death of Dumbledore, at least in Harry's eyes, signified the beginning of the end. The start of the descent into chaos and anarchy. Dumbledore's death was the rock hitting the lake, sending out repercussion shockwaves that they could only begin to hint at.

So beautiful, this night of nights.

The pressure of the future seemed a burden on Harry's shoulders. So great that he could not possibly bear it alone. Then, as two other, familiar figures sat down beside him, he realised that he would never be alone.

Not whilst he had his friends.


	12. 12 Professor

**HP Drabble Series # 12**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#12 - Prompt Professor. Word count 296**

"Very well, class," Professor Sinistra's clear voice rang out through the moonlit night. "Begin drawing your star charts. There are many constellations visible overhead at this time of year."

She walked amongst her students, a tall and graceful figure who was still every bit as slim and elegant as she had been during her own schooldays here at Hogwarts. Shy, almost to the point of being crippling, she had found release and contentment pouring over maps and charts, lovingly writing down the names of the stars that shone like unattainable diamonds against the velvet backdrop of the night sky.

Beyond her grasp.

As she walked – no, glided amongst the hard-working students, her clear-eyed gaze settled on the bent, tousled head of Harry Potter. _How like your father you are, Harry_, she thought, with the familiar pangs of sorrow. She had been a year below James and his friends through school. She'd not really known them. At least not to talk to. But she had certainly had her reasons for knowing who they were.

Idly studying the head of messy black hair, she allowed herself the rare luxury of slipping into memory. Ah, the foolishness of youth. The wasted years of yearning. That man who had been as unobtainable as the stars she now loved more than she would ever have loved him. What it was to be grown and matured beyond childish longing.

"Professor?"

The voice snapped her back to the present and she leaned down to see Neville's starchart. "I think I got one wrong," he said ruefully.

"Indeed," came the reply and she touched his map lightly with her wand, erasing the incorrect name. "That is Canis Major. And that star…"

_Sirius._

A girlish blush touched her cheeks.

Perhaps not _completely_ beyond childish longing.


	13. 13 Final

**HP Drabble Series # 13**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#13 - Prompt Final. Word count 300**

Malacay, a torn-eared, eighteen-year old ginger tom was master of all he surveyed. And right now, what he surveyed was a veritable _sea_ of cats. An ocean of felinity, over which he reigned as undisputed monarch. This was his domain. No other cat in the neighbourhood dare challenge it.

Arabella Figg moved amongst the living, breathing, purring carpet, a grim look on her face. For so many years now, when things got too much, she'd come to talk to Malacay. Malacay didn't reply or offer helpful advice. He _listened_, which was sometimes just what Arabella needed.

She settled in her favourite chair and the big ginger tom arched his back, yawned and dropped easily into her lap. She stroked him absently behind the ears.

"Boy went back to school today, Malacay," she said, sadly. "I di'n't like having to say goodbye. Goodbye seems so _final_. And I'm scared he in't going to be safe any more."

Purr. Soothe.

"It's tough bein' a Squib," she said. "Not bein' able to help them what needs it the most. It's been grand, watching over little Harry as he's grown up. But he don't need my kind of help no more."

She didn't realise that her vigilance and near devotion during the early years of Harry's life had been worth more than perhaps she would ever know. But Malacay knew. He knew the kind of love she was capable of giving. He arched his back again and butted her with his head. Sometimes she was so incapable of seeing her own worth. And that was Malacay's job.

To make her see.

And for now, her melancholy fled and she dozed off, surrounded by many tiny lives. Lives she had touched with her simple, unselfish need to love and protect those who needed it most.


	14. 14 Gift

**HP Drabble Series # 14**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#14 - Prompt Gift. Word count 300**

"More tea?"

"No thanks." Argus Filch held up his hand to stop her pouring another cup. Aunt Harriet was a dear old thing, but she did tend to force tea (and cakes) down you. It was _scary_ tea, too: the sort that doubled as paint stripper. Every sip he took, another layer of skin peeled away from his intestinal tract.

"Are you sure, now? It's no bother."

"No, really. I'll have to leave soon."

'Aunt' Harriet wasn't related to Argus at all. She was the elderly maiden aunt of one of his mother's friends: as batty as a hamster on a pogo stick. Because Argus was the only non-magical member of the family, it was decided that he was the only one who could deal with her Muggle ramblings.

He liked visiting the old lady. She was nice to him - something that most his family weren't. And invariably she gave him a gift whenever he left. Usually something random like a toothpick or, on one memorable occasion a paving slab, but it was the thought that counted.

"You're a good boy, Argus," she said as he stood. "Here, I have a little gift for you." Into his waiting arms, she dumped a little bundle of fur. The kitten mewed slightly and stared up at him through one baleful eye.

"I can't…"

"You can," she said. "You must. Old Mrs Norris gave her to me, but I can't care for her. You're a good boy, Argus. You take her. Please."

The please did it.

"Well, thank you, then," he said, embarrassed. "It's a lovely gift."

She died a week later, but the kitten she had gifted him remained. And in every generation, one kitten stayed with Argus as a reminder that the most faithful companions can come from unexpected quarters.


	15. 15 Explode

**HP Drabble Series # 15**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#14 - Prompt Explode. Word count 289**

"Don't care what you say, I'm going to stick to my guns here, Wormtail. The colour is puce. Definitely puce."

"No, I'd say it was more magenta, myself, Padfoot. Most decidedly a more pink shade of red than purple. What d'you reckon, Prongs? Puce or magenta?"

"Are you crazy?" James stretched out luxuriously. "Puce and magenta are SO last season. I'd say it was unashamedly cerise, myself."

"Amaranth," said Remus, without once looking up from the book he was reading. "The shade you're looking for is amaranth."

His words had the usual effect of silencing the other three who glared over at him and his bookish one-upmanship. "What," said Sirius in a calm, level tone, "the hell is 'amaranth' when it's at home?"

"Any plant," said Remus, pointing to the page in his Herbology text book, "from the genus _Amaranthus_. It's the shade you're looking for. If you actually concentrated on doing your homework instead of basking in the light of your many and varied successes in making Slughorn explode in temper, you'd be able to see for yourself."

As a group, the other three crammed around Remus' text book.

"Well, bugger me, the swotty little git's right," remarked Sirius, artlessly. "He really _did_ go that shade. Here, Prongs! Chuck me over my text book, will you? I want to find other colours we could make him go…"

Within a few short moments, the other three were studiously flicking through their homework texts, bringing the faintest glimmer of a smile to Remus' face. That should actually get them to do some proper revision for their Herbology OWLs due next week if nothing else. He considered it a small success.

And besides.

It had been very definitely eggplant in hue.


	16. 16 Fireworks

**HP Drabble Series # 16**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#16 - Prompt Fireworks. Word count 299**

"_Oooh!"  
_  
The crowd let out the expected collective sighs at exactly the expected moments. Eyes turned upward to the night sky, as firework after firework went up and exploded into the darkness in a million and more shards of colour.

_"Aaaah!"  
_  
No need for magic. This was simple Muggle chemistry, a basic application of gunpowder and a fuse. It was almost mundane when you started to analyse it. Mundane and a little disappointing.

But then, reflected the cloaked figure, drawing the fabric more tightly around himself for warmth, that was Muggles all over. Mundane and a little disappointing.

And yet…the fireworks were so beautiful to watch. It was all he could do to stem his own input into the obligatory 'oohs' and 'aahs'. There was something almost compelling about it, like it was part of the greater scheme of the inventors to induce that response in people.

Eyes that were usually as mirrored and masked as his soul reflected the riot of colour above. Barty gazed upwards. _So pretty_, he thought, allowing himself the rare luxury of opening up a side of his personality that was buried under so many tonnes of psychoses and insecurities it may as well have been as dead as he was supposed to be himself.

So pretty.

So…

…pretty.

A sigh spread through his body like wildfire ripping through a drought-hit woodland. So pretty. And yet…with a single wave of a wand he could produce something _so_ much more spectacular.

Then there would be less 'oohs', less 'aahs' and noticeable more screams.

A maniacal grin split his face, the moment of childish sanity dragged back below the quagmire of lunacy.

All you needed was a wand - and with that foolish creature twisted around his finger, that was easy.

"_Morsmordre_," he whispered. "Oh yes."


	17. 17 Harry's Family

**HP Drabble Series # 17**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#17 – Harry's Family. Word count 300**

_My dear Petunia_

Alas, I must regretfully inform you of the tragic and untimely death of your sister, Lily and her husband James. I will, should you so ask at a later stage, explain all. I understand that there was no real love lost between you, but it is to you that I must now turn in this most desperate hour.

The child has survived an attempt on his life by the barest whisker and it is into your care that I must now entrust him. As kin to his mother, you and he share the blood of your forefathers, a simple, undeniable fact - and it is through that bond, an ancient bond that has very little to do with magic and everything to do with the wonder that is the universe, that he will flourish.

I appreciate how complex this must be for you, poor girl, to lose your sister and gain an extra mouth to feed all in one night. Yet I must throw myself upon your most basic instincts – that of a mother - and plead with you to save the life of this innocent.

All I ask is that you raise him to an age when he can enter our world and that once he is here, he can return to you but once a year to renew that bond of blood.

Petunia, I understand you bore much anger and jealousy towards your sister, but she never had a cruel or harsh word to say about you. Remember. Whatever your feelings, the fact is simple. You are Harry's family.

You know how to contact me.

My deepest condolences and fondest regards and thanks,

Albus Dumbledore

Petunia set down the letter and closed her eyes, remembering the Howler.

_"Remember my last, Petunia."_

How could she forget?


	18. 18 Birthday

**HP Drabble Series # 18**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#18 – Prompt: Birthday. Word count 297**

"_Happy birthday, Remus!"_

He'd had to feign surprise, of course. Pretend that he'd not worked out that his three great friends were throwing a 'surprise' party for him. Honestly there were times when he suspected that they thought he'd fallen down on the last raindrop.

_"Happy birthday!"_

They'd crowded around him, patting him on the back, congratulating him on the arrival of his seventeenth birthday. No longer a boy, but a man.

Still a werewolf, but a man, nonetheless.

He'd looked from face to face, feeling genuine warmth and affection from them and had been happy. He'd eaten pumpkin pasties, washed them down with butterbeer and good old Sirius (naturally) had even smuggled in some fire whiskey to 'toast' the birthday boy.

It had been the best present ever.

Of course, the following morning, they'd all had hangovers, but Sirius had argued, it had been worth it. Poor little Peter didn't think so: he ended up sleeping next to the head. James, who would normally have laughed at this behaviour had made sure he was alright.

_Poor little Peter._

Good old Sirius.

James. So tough on the surface, but probably the kindest man I ever knew.

They were all gone now. Nothing more than memories. Only he remained, the last of the Marauders. Nobody left to pat him on the back and take stolen sips of forbidden liquor with him.

Staring into the mirror, he was swept up in a moment of melancholy. He was all that was left.

"Remus?"

The sleepy voice from the direction of the bed caused him to turn his head and smile. Maybe he didn't have his friends with him any more to celebrate the turning of another year – but at least he had Nymphadora.

And _that_ was the best present ever.


	19. 19 Surrender

**HP Drabble Series # 19**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#19 – Prompt: Surrender. Word count 299**

His mother would definitely have approved, had she seen where he was right now, but her ever-encroaching madness rendered her mostly blind to what he did these days. His father would have looked up from the 'Daily Prophet', mumbled something like 'That's nice, son', and gone back to reading. And his brother?

His brother.

He tried not to think of what Sirius would say. He didn't need to think about his blood-traitor brother at a time like this. A time when he stood in the most secret of places, clad in the robes and full face mask of a Death Eater. One of Voldemort's most trusted. 

He didn't need to think about Sirius. He had his own agenda.

He was shivering, despite the unnatural heat in the room. An unnatural heat that seemed to roil off the Dark Lord as he went round his gathered minions one at a time, addressing them softly and inaudibly. Occasionally he would put his hand on a follower's head, as though bestowing a blessing.

The irony was not lost on Regulus.

He was both thrilled and repulsed when finally the Dark Lord stood before him and closed his eyes, preparing to surrender to the inevitable. This was the moment that he had been building up to now for weeks.

He realised that in that same inaudible tone, Voldemort was speaking to him. His eyes snapped open and he fixed his eyes on a point just left of the snake-like man's shoulders. The cadaverous skull was twisted in a parody of a sardonic smile.

"And finally to our newest recruit. For you, young Master Black, something…_special_, I think." No whispered words for Regulus, no. No whispers, no secrets. Just a blunt statement.

And certainly no blessing.

_Be grateful, Regulus, for small mercies._

He waited.


	20. 20 Scar

**HP Drabble Series # 20**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#20 – Prompt: Scar. Word count 298**

_How dare he._

Walburga Black stood in the room where the tapestry of the family tree snaked around her. She ran her hand almost lovingly over some of the old, familiar names. Names that had brought such pride to her for many years.

Her long, elegant fingers ran down the weave of the tapestry, caressing the woven name of her husband, Orion, and her two sons. Regulus, her pride and joy and…

_How DARE he!_

In his early years, Walburga had loved her eldest son. She'd had such hopes and dreams for him, such plans for his future. But as he'd grown, so had the Black family traits shrunk until, unsurprisingly, word arrived that he had been Sorted into Gryffindor, of all places.

The shame had all but killed her. But she had tolerated that filthy blood traitor in her house for five years, each year growing increasingly difficult. There were times when it seemed he would come around to the family way of thinking, but always he would be overwhelmed by a highly un-Black-like wave of what could only be described as _goodness_.

Oh, Sirius.

How she despised him now. Her bright, handsome, affectionate, gentle boy who once she had taken into her arms and nursed, in whom once she had seen the perpetuation of the Black family line and in whom now she saw nothing but the embodiment of everything she had been raised to believe was wrong.

She ran her fingers around the curves of his name – such a gloriously _sibilant_ name - one last time before raising her wand, pointing it at the tapestry and whispering arcane, ancient words that left Sirius Black as nothing more than a blasted, burned scar on the face of the Black family tree.

And she grieved for him.


	21. 21 Summer

**HP Drabble Series # 21**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#21 – Prompt: Summer. Word count 296**

"It's not funny, Peter."

Sirius Black scowled at his three friends who were all doing their hardest not to laugh. Peter was failing spectacularly: silent tears of mirth were rolling unchecked down his pudgy cheeks. Even Remus, normally the most sober and serious of them all was sniggering slightly. Growing increasingly irritated with them, Sirius folded his arms across his chest.

"OK, Sirius. You're right." James' voice was kind, comforting. Perhaps even a _shade_ condescending. "It's not funny."

"Thank you." 

There was an appropriate cinematic pause for effect.

"It's bloody _hilarious_!"

James' utterance set them off again and they doubled up in hysterics. Without another word, Sirius spun on his heel and marched out of the dormitory, down the stairs, through the Gryffindor common room and barged his way past a rather surprised Fat Lady.

"I say, _do_ mind who you're slamming open, won't you, Master Black?" She sniffed haughtily at him. She was evidently about to say something else when she stopped and peered through her canvas at him.

"Did you forget to wash this morning?"

Sirius paused in his exodus, but didn't turn around to the portrait. Instead, he spoke in a low, threatening monotone.

"When I want your opinion," he said, dangerously, "I'll bloody well _ask_ for it."

With that slicing epitaph, he stormed off down the corridor, leaving the Fat Lady caught somewhere in between righteous indignation at his words and giggling slightly to herself. 

"Ah, the youth of today," she commented fondly to her neighbour portrait, who looked up from her bubbling cauldron and nodded emphatically.

Sirius' rage had dissipated somewhat by the time he reached the Great Hall and his shoulders relaxed visibly. 

This would be ABSOLUTELY the last time he attempted to grow a moustache during the summer holidays.


	22. 22 Neville Longbottom

**HP Drabble Series # 22**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#22 – Prompt: Neville Longbottom. Word count 296**

"Neville? Are you decent?"

Gran's voice. The one thing that had terrified Neville for years and yet right now, her shrill tones etching their way across his eardrums were as welcome as a cup of hot chocolate on a snowy night.

"I'm decent, Gran," he replied, pulling the covers up more tightly around himself. "Come in."

Augusta Longbottom entered the room, instantly filling the available space with her impressive presence. Neville had always marvelled at the way Gran managed to make herself look bigger than she actually was. He suspected that if you caught her unawares, she'd be about four feet tall.

"How are you feeling, Neville?" Gran didn't wait for an answer, but thrust a hand out to feel his forehead. "You feel a tad warm to me, boy, here, take a sip of this – no, just a sip, not a gulp…that's better. I was reading through the Daily Prophet, they were saying that the investigation into what happened at the Ministry…"

Neville closed his eyes and let her waffling banter wash over him like a soothing balm. It had been her who insisted he rest up on his return from the Ministry with the rest of Dumbledore's Army, much to his surprise.

"…and I said 'not on your nelly'…and do you know what Mrs. Thompson said to me?"

Before he could even speculate about what Mrs. Thompson may or may not have said, Gran leaned forward and kissed him soundly on the cheek before bustling back to the door. "Sleep tight, Neville," she said.

There was a pause.

"You did your mum and dad proud, you know."

The door closed.

"And me, as well," came the muffled afterthought.

Neville smiled. _Yes_, he thought. _Yes, I did. Maybe I'm NOT so useless after all_.


	23. 23 Baby

**HP Drabble Series # 23**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#23 – Prompt: Neville Longbottom. Word count 294**

Her husband, fool man, had sloped off down to the Leaky Cauldron for a 'celebratory drink' with his friends. He'd left her alone in the big old house with nothing for company but a bunch of surly portraits, a house-elf and an hours-old baby.

It was the latter to whom Walburga Black turned her attentions.

There had been certain anxiety during the child's birth: she and Orion were second cousins, after all and there had been a definite aura of concern. However, on initial checks, the attending witch confirmed that the child seemed to be healthy enough. At least, it had the right number of fingers and toes and there weren't any extra ears in the middle of its nose or anything like that.

Small mercies.

Sitting up uncomfortably, she turned slightly so that she could focus on the small bundle presently wrapped so tightly in a blanket that its little face was all wrinkled. No, hold on. Closer inspection revealed that the little face _was _all wrinkled. Walburga unconsciously mimicked it, wrinkling her own face in distaste. She didn't like babies. She was, as had been observed by her younger brother Alphard, likely to be about as maternal as a stick.

But yet…

As she looked at the bundle, its dark hair sticking out in several directions on top of its head, she felt a sudden rush of…_something_. Impulsively, she reached and plucked the sleeping baby up from its crib and held it inexpertly.

A twitch of a fold revealed that she had a son. They'd neglected to tell her that part in all the relief that it – no, that _he_ was alright.

She studied his little face and in that instant discovered what the phrase 'unconditional love' meant.

"Hello, Sirius," she whispered.


	24. 24 Goodbye

**HP Drabble Series # 24**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#24 – Prompt: Goodbye. Word count 300**

"Mother?"

He stood in the doorway, slight and tousle-haired, his face pale, his eyes filled with anxious worry. "Mother, what happened? Where's he gone?"

"I do not care," came the retort, "and neither should you. I have no wish to talk about it. Go back to your room, Regulus. This does not concern you."

Regulus blinked at his mother's tone. Of _course_ it concerned him – he had just been forced to sit and listen to the most horrendous screaming match his brother and mother had ever had – and there had been some fantastic ones over the past few years.

"Yes, it does," said Regulus, surprising himself with his forthright manner. Over the past year, ever since he had become the Slytherin House Seeker, his confidence had soared. He had started to become the sort of young man who was capable of speaking his mind. Not unlike his brother.

Walburga stared at her younger son, the one she had largely ignored until now. Sirius was her first born: he should have been her pride and joy. Instead, he had brought her constant disappointment and now he had pushed things one step to far.

She had told him to get out. He had said that he was already going. There had been shouting. She was hard pressed now to remember what hard words were spoken between them.

But Regulus could have told her. Not even sitting with his pillow over his ears had blanked out the voices, the accusations, the spiteful name-calling on both sides.

Walburga shook her head, and for the first time he could remember, Regulus saw tears shining in her eyes. "He's gone, Regulus."

"Gone?"

Regulus turned to the door which only moments before had slammed shut. "He can't have gone."

_He can't have gone._

He never said goodbye.


	25. 25 Halloween

**HP Drabble Series # 25**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#25 – Prompt: Halloween. Word count 299**

The full moon was low in the sky and was a deep shade of orange. A 'blood moon', as they called it. It seemed oddly appropriate and entirely atmospheric for it to be so – after all, this was the night that so many of the neighbourhood children had waited for with great excitement for weeks on end.

Including him.

Up and down the street, candles flickered their lights from the inside of carved pumpkins, some of which had been carved with happy, smiling faces and some of which had been carved with expressions rather less pleasant. From where the child sat, he could hear the sounds of laughter out in the alleyway behind the back yard, where a group of children made their way to the next street.

Every year at Halloween was the same. All the Muggle children would be out and he would be stuck here, in the place he had found: the gap between the sink and the end unit that only a small boy could fit into. It wasn't exactly comfortable – but it was secret.

And it was safe.

The arguing had been bad this evening. His father had eventually ceased his apparently tireless ranting and had gone down to the pub. He could hear his mother sobbing in the front room, but he only half-listened. He was waiting for the doorbell. Waiting for the street bully to be there with his gap-toothed sneer, waiting to hear the question.

He'd be there, sooner or later. And with the skills Severus had learned from his mother in the past few days, he'd be ready for him.

"Trick or treat?"

And there he was.

A slow smile spread across the boy's face.

He emerged from his hidey-hole and headed for the door.

"Oh, I think definitely _trick_…"


	26. 26 Tower

**HP Drabble Series # 26**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#26 – Prompt: Tower. Word count 298**

Regulus sat in his favourite hidey-hole up at the top of the Astronomy tower, glaring with undisguised fury at the piece of paper in his hand. A letter from his mother was nothing unusual; she did, after all, write at least once a week to order him around by post. But this time...THIS time, she'd taken it too far.

He let his eyes skim over the sentence that had burst the banks of his temper again.

_I appreciate you enjoyed your little games of Quidditch last year, but your father and I have decided that pursuing this sport is not an appropriate pasttime for a young man who bears the Black name. I have therefore written to Professor Slughorn to request that you be removed from the house team._

Regulus had always taken his mother's domineering personality very much in his stride. After all, it did make for a peaceful existence – something that had eluded Regulus since his brother's dramatic departure. But this was too much. Almost incandescent with rage, he balled the letter up and threw it at the wall.

_...your father and I have decided..._

And THAT was utter _bollocks_. Regulus had had a rare father-son conversation with Orion towards the end of the holidays. The old man had said that if Quidditch made Regulus happy, then he should carry on doing it. It was his mother. The interfering, domineering, spiteful _cow_.

Instantly, Regulus felt guilty for thinking like that about his mother. But this was beyond unfair. This was _unreasonable_.

Since Sirius had gone, life had become unbearable for Regulus. The weight of suddenly becoming the sole heir to the Black family had landed with such force that he felt about a foot high.

But he strove to be a dutiful son.

Someone had to.


	27. 27 Sick

**HP Drabble Series # 27**

I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.

**#27 – Sick: Tower. Word count 300**

It was terrifying, yet somehow he managed to grit his teeth and move inside the cave. The darkness here was almost obscenely intense: it affected more than just his vision. Here, the darkness possessed shape and form, oppressive and stifling. His heart pounded so painfully in his chest that he was practically gasping for breath.

And yet on he ploughed.

He had chosen this course of action through free will. He couldn't give up now. He _wouldn't_ give up now.

"Master Regulus?"

Kreacher's voice broke through the darkness, somewhere to his left and Regulus glanced over his shoulder, hearing the fear in the house elf's trembling voice. He held aloft his wand and murmured _"Lumos"_. The light cast by his wand barely cut through the darkness, but made enough of an impact to outline his smaller companion's shape.

"It's alright, Kreacher," he said, in a reassuring tone that he most certainly didn't feel deep in his heart. "It's going to be alright. But you remember what I told you? As soon as I say so, you go home."

"But..."

"Kreacher, please." _Let me do this one thing right. Let people remember that my last gesture was one for the greater good. Let this act lead to his downfall._ "Promise me."

"I promise, Master." He sounded as though he teetered on the verge of tears and Regulus impulsively reached out and squeezed Kreacher's hand.

"Thank you," he said, simply. "Let's get this over with."

"Master, the Inferi..."

"Leave them to me." Regulus had convinced Kreacher that he had the means of dealing with the final obstacle. He didn't, of course, but neither could he run away now. Too much running away had brought him to this point in the first place.

Regulus shuddered. He'd never felt so sick.

_Too late now._


End file.
